


Any other way

by damngoodcoffee (eva_s)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Character Death, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24043855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eva_s/pseuds/damngoodcoffee
Summary: If there is such an epic Force-healing in the new trilogy, why couldn't Obi-Wan have used it?
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	Any other way

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Иначе](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23592775) by [damngoodcoffee (eva_s)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eva_s/pseuds/damngoodcoffee). 



> Beta-readers: [arcane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcane) and [ArchieHabian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchieHabian). I really appreciate your help, thank you!

Qui-Gon was meditating. His eyes were closed, graying brown hair spilling over his shoulders, his face was calm and serene. He looked just as usual, and yet, Obi-Wan couldn't take his eyes off him.

“Ten years had passed since that mission on Naboo, but nothing has changed,” he thought.

"So many years have passed, but nothing has changed," Qui-Gon repeated aloud, opening his eyes. He smiled softly, and Obi-Wan's heart fluttered with tenderness.

Qui-Gon took a deep breath and sat up more relaxedly; the Force flowed around him smoothly, mildly flickering. The collar of his tunic loosened, and Obi-Wan's gaze unintentionally slid over the bare skin, a bit lower, further down to the spot where the fabric covered the scar left by the Sith's strike.

Qui-Gon’s hand traced the outlines of it, as he sat there, lost in thought.

Obi-Wan was overcome with familiar dread — remembered the horror he felt standing between buzzing power shields, helpless, caged, forced to look as Darth Maul was killing his Master. And then turned: to come towards him, for him, smirking and smug.

"Could it have been any other way?" Qui-Gon asked in a low voice.

"No," Obi-Wan replied, quietly; his lips moved, but no sound came. He was still there, on the narrow terrace of the reactor shaft; Qui-Gon was dying in his arms, and Obi-Wan felt how their Force-bond was thinning, slowly torn apart — how it was disappearing along with the breath and life of his Master.

And he wanted — fiercely, desperately — he wanted to hold him. His heart skipped a beat when he put his hand over the wound.

He knew that no ordinary Jedi could use the Force to heal anything more than just scratches. He remembered how Qui-Gon, with a soft laughter, healed his knee — he had stupidly hurt it in a sparring match — as though he was five years old, not thirteen.

Master!

He felt the warmth. His heart pounded faster and faster in his chest, the Force trembling around, buzzing inside of him, and Obi-Wan seemed to have hit the center of the cold flame, the eye of the hurricane. The Force was spilling into the wound and the wound was closing, its edges drawing together, the Force-bond singing, recovering...

Qui-Gon took a sharp breath. And Obi-Wan...

Here and now Qui-Gon shook his head.

"If only I could stop you..."

He stood up heavily. Ten years weren’t a delusion, same as the fatal wound.

“You could not, Master,” Obi-Wan thought. “There was no way you could ever stop me.”

Qui-Gon smiled, looking into his eyes — and walked right through him. The door of his bedroom closed with a soft, barely audible creak.

Obi-Wan, forever twenty-four-years-old Padawan who had given all he had to save his Master, stayed in the dark living room.


End file.
